The Morning After the Night Before
by Little Polveir
Summary: Season 3 Spoilers. Shelagh and the other nurses go out for an evening of fun together. This story is the aftermath of their evening. This is my first attempt at FanFiction, so reviews would be great
1. The Morning After the Night Before

"Owwww!" Shelagh moaned.

Warm summer sunlight was pouring through the gap in the half open curtains of the Turner's bedroom, casting its glow over her face. She shielded her bright blue eyes from its rays and attempted to lift herself up the soft feather pillows.

"Aaaah" she moaned again.

She lay still for a moment, attempting to fathom the sources of her discomfort. One pain she had never experienced before, the other, very familiar, but had not occurred for some time. She made another attempt to sit up. Her head was throbbing, the room was spinning, and she felt dizzy. She put her chin on her chest, attempting to stop herself feeling faint. It was then she realised that she was not wearing a nightdress, but the new purple dress and the black silk stockings which she had worn the previous evening. The shawl and the shoes she had been wearing lay discarded on the floor. It then dawned on her that she did not remember arriving home the previous evening. "What happened last night?" she thought.

She had spent the previous evening with the other nurses from Nonnatus House. Trixie had taken them up West, to a new bar which served cocktails. Shelagh was not sure how appropriate it was for her, a married woman, to be going to a bar, but Patrick had told her to go and enjoy herself. "It will take your mind off, things" he'd said. Shelagh had never drunk a cocktail before in her life, having never been allowed to go out socialising or partake in the semi-secret, late night drinking, which the other midwifes would indulge in when the nuns had gone to bed. She had decided before she left to try just one cocktail, but the pleasant music and surroundings of the bar, the company of her friends, the excitement of the new freedoms which her post-Nonnatus life was bringing, led to her overindulging in the sweet tasting treats. She remembered Cynthia handing her a glass of water and then Jenny helping her up off her chair. After that, she had no recollection. The pounding in her head, was this how a hangover felt?

There was a glass of water on her bedside table, and, realising how dry her throat was, she drank it in one. "Thank you for the water Patrick" she said, reaching behind her to run her hand down his back. When she couldn't find him, she turned round to find that he was not there. A sudden wave of terror swept over her.

"Patrick!" she called, "Patrick."

There was no answer. Her voice reverberated around the house.

"Timothy, Timmy."

Again, there was no answer.

"Where is everyone?" she thought. She replaced the empty water glass and picked up her glasses and wrist watch from the bedside table. Placing her glasses onto her nose, which, she discovered, did little to relieve her splitting headache, she looked at the time on her watch. It was 10:45.

"Oh no!" she squeaked. She had overslept. She should have been at work hours before. What on earth would Patrick say?

Panic stricken, she made to get out of bed, only to be halted by a sudden, sharp twinge in her lower abdomen, which brought the second, and more familiar, of her twin discomforts back into focus. She rubbed her abdomen with one hand, whilst lifting herself gently off the bed with the other. She turned back the bedclothes to find bloodstains on the crumpled white sheets. Even though she was alone in the house, she felt a wave of embarrassment at the thought of making a mess on his, no, their sheets. She then realised that there were corresponding stains on the back of her new dress. She headed across the landing to the bathroom, and took off her dress and left it and the sheets to soak in cold water in the bath.

Whilst living as a nun, her monthly cycle was nothing more than a reminder of her biology, that she was a woman, but all thoughts of anything further had to be firmly suppressed. As her feelings towards Patrick began to develop, and she realised she wanted to have a family of her own, what had always been a monthly inconvenience was in fact something more. It was part of a beautiful, wonderful process of bringing new life into the world. Since her diagnosis with TB, Mother Nature's visits had become more erratic. Once she and Patrick had married, they had been trying for a baby, and she had not had a cycle for several months. She had hoped and prayed that the lack of her cycle was the result of something wonderful inside her, created after a magical night with Patrick, but the tests which they had sent to the London had come back negative. The later diagnosis of possible infertility was the most devastating news she could have possibly heard.

Sitting on the toilet seat, putting a sanitary towel into place for the first time in many months, a sudden realisation came over her. This was the first cycle which she had since that dreadful day. That day, in the Harley Street clinic, when she and Patrick learned that it would be very unlikely that they would ever have a baby together. The bloodstains and the cramps, did they mean that things were righting themselves? Had she ovulated? Was this Mother Nature telling her not to give up hope?

After dressing into a dark navy suit and white blouse and placing extra towels into her handbag she headed to the kitchen and made herself a strong cup of sugary coffee. Coffee and sugar were luxuries in Nonnatus House and she usually would use both sparingly, but she had remembered Trixie saying that they were good for curing a hangover. She drank it in large gulps, scalding her tongue slightly in the process, and then left for the maternity home as fast as she could.


	2. Facing her Husband

Fifteen minutes later, out of breath from running and with a sweat glistening on her brow, Shelagh arrived at Patrick's clinic in the maternity home. The waiting room was empty, and her husband's office door was ajar. She breathed in, composed herself, and knocked on his door. Patrick opened the door immediately. Shelagh instantly noticed a tired, strained look across his face, as though he had been up late into the night. She opened her mouth to apologise for her lateness, but he began first.

"Good morning Mrs. Turner" he said in the same tone to which he addressed his patients "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

Shelagh stared at her husband with a look of confusion. "What do you mean Patrick, I overslept, I'm late, I'm…"

"Tired, hormonal and hung over" Patrick finished her sentence for her "And out of breath too, you shouldn't have run, you know you need to be gentle with your lungs."

Shelagh's cheeks blushed a deep scarlet and her eyes dropped to the floor, not daring to look at her husband, who she could sense was examining her with his piercing eyes she usually could not stop looking at. After a moment she said "Why didn't you wake me?"

Patrick suddenly dropped his doctoral manner and placed his arms round her waist, resting a hand on her lower back. She flinched slightly. Not only was she still feeling delicate there, but also, since her diagnosis, she had found being intimate with Patrick more difficult.

"I didn't wake you, my dear, because I saw the state which you came home in last night."

Shelagh suddenly pulled away from his grasp. She backed several paces across the room, stopping only after colliding with the corner of the desk. Wincing with the pain, she looked fearfully up at Patrick, expecting to see rage and shame in her husband's eyes. "I'm sor…" she began, but saw a beaming smirk appear across Patrick's face, which suddenly gave away into a mighty guffaw. Shelagh did not know what to say or do. What on earth had happened last night? "Patrick" she begged "Please…tell me…what…what happ…what is so funny?" She felt tears' welling up at the corners of her eyes, though she could not tell which emotion was causing them.

Patrick composed himself, biting his bottom lip to try and prevent himself giggling like the young midwifes did. "I haven't seen anyone come home in that state since my first year at medical school, after Simon Matheson tried to convince us that he could drink a whole keg of beer in one night. He managed 12 pints before falling off his chair into the bust of the landlady and it took four of us to carry him back to our digs. He was so out of it that it took us an hour to get him up to the top floor and into bed. He slept until 6 the next evening, and looked completely out of it for two days!"

Shelagh blushed a deeper shade of crimson. "You sat up waiting for me? What time did I get home?"

"The five of you arrived at about 1 am"

"The five of us?"

Patrick nodded.

"What happened to me last night?" she nervously inquired "Did I fall off my chair and have to be carried home?"

"You didn't fall off your chair, no" Patrick responded, moving towards her to take her hand "But the girls did have to carry you home, and then I carried you up to bed." Shelagh didn't dare look at him.

"Trixie and Jenny said that you all had a good time, perhaps just a few too many cocktails."

He paused "Were they nice, the cocktails?"

"Yes, very" she said almost too quickly "Well, they were very um…different to the Horlicks and tea that I'm used to drinking with the girls."

"Well that's alright then, I'm glad that you had a good evening"

"But, aren't you cross with me?" she said, desperately looking for some reassurance "For getting…" She paused "Drunk" She shuddered at the sound of the word leaving her mouth. "For being late?"

"No I'm not" Patrick replied, stroking the back of her hand "It's been a quiet morning so I've managed, before you start worrying about that." He eyes met hers and he smiled. "And anyway, who am I to lecture anyone on being late?" A weight was lifted from Shelagh's shoulders, he wasn't angry with her. Another thought then crossed her mind.

"Patrick, you said I was tired, hung over and…" she steadied herself "Hormonal. How?"

"I'm a doctor"

"But…"

"Oh and Cynthia said, you were, a little emotional last night. _In vino veritas_?"

"I don't remember." She sucked her bottom lip for a moment. "Patrick."

"Yes."

"I'm having a cycle, the first one since…"

A small smile crept across Patrick's face. Shelagh continued.

"Does this mean that?" her voice broke off. Her eyes widened and her bottom lip trembled very slightly.

"It means that you may be ovulating again" Patrick said, readopting his bedside manner "It is possible, but not certain."

"Is there a way to be certain?"

"We could always, try, to find out."

Shelagh looked at him with the same coy shyness that she used to look at him when he showed any affection before they married. Patrick suddenly realised that he had overstepped the mark.

"Only if you want to, if you're not ready"

Since the diagnosis, Patrick had become acutely aware that Shelagh was not herself. Throughout their marriage he had never forced her to do anything in bed which he did not want to, and although she was not always forward in instigating their love making, she had always been willing to accept his advances. Until now though. A week or so after the operation, he had wrapped his arms round her one night and she pulled right way, nearly falling out of bed in the process. "Not yet Patrick" she had told him. They had not made love since. Even out of the bedroom, she had been noticeably uncomfortable in his arms, and her kisses were not the same.

"Patrick, I'm sorry I haven't made love with you for so long." Her voice began to tremble again. "The possibility of infertility made me feel like the act was wrong."

"How could it be wrong?" Patrick said, taking both of his wife's hands. "I have never felt anything so right."

"God gave us this, this, activity, to make children. Without the possibility of children, I felt guilty for enjoying being with you. I have spent many hours in prayer trying to reconcile myself"

Tears began rolling down Shelagh's pale cheeks. Patrick brushed them aside with the back of his hand.

"I want to find out, I want a baby with you more than anything else in the world, but I'm not ready to try again yet."

"I would never make you do anything that would hurt you or make you uncomfortable" Patrick said, moving his hands from hers to her elbows. "I couldn't even undress you last night in case it upset you when you found out." He paused. "We won't just yet then. We can see how your cycles go, and if all is well and when you are ready, we can try again."

Shelagh looked at Patrick with the most warmth and affection that she had felt in a very long time. What had she done to deserve to be married to such a wonderful, caring, thoughtful and compassionate man?

"I would like that" she murmured and gently snuggled herself into him. He held her softly, placing delicate kisses into her hair.

"Now then, how is that hangover Mrs Turner?" he said cheekily.

"Horrendous" she giggled back.

"I'll make some coffee and get you some cold water, are you sure you are in a fit state to work this afternoon?"

"I'll be quite alright Dr Turner"

He kissed her forehead and then rubbed her abdomen. A wave of flutters radiated from the pit of her stomach. He left the office to make the coffee and a smile beamed across her face. "I love you Patrick Turner" she thought.


	3. Facing her Friends

By the time of afternoon clinic Shelagh's headache had subsided considerably. Though, her hangover was the least of her concerns. She was not looking forward to seeing her fellow midwives. She felt ashamed and embarrassed by the fact that they had seen her lose control and had to carry her home. She was contemplating how she was going to apologise to them when her thoughts were interrupted by a loud, familiar voice.

"Well, hello, party girl!"

"Good afternoon Trixie, and how are you today?" She felt an inner groan at the sound of the words which had just left her mouth.

"Tickerty-boo" came Trixie's bubbly response. Busy morning though, Mrs. Davies' twins arrived first thing, a few issues along the way, but mother and both daughters are doing smashingly. How has your morning been?"

"Um" Shelagh hesitated "It was…"

"No way!" Trixie said, reading Shelagh's face as easily as she would her medical notes. "I know you had a few last night, but even so! Did you see this morning?"

"Just about." Shelagh admitted.

Trixie's glowing face sparkled even more so than usual. "I don't believe it" she said in a tone of mocking pleasure "Mrs. Shelagh Turner, the former nun and doctor's wife, too hung over to come to work."

"Keep your voice down Trixie" Shelagh pleaded "I don't want the whole of Poplar to know."

"Wait until I tell the others, what on earth is Sister Evangelina going to say?"

"Trixie!" Shelagh's voice was so stern that she almost did not recognise it. Trixie jumped and her expression changed. "Please, don't tell anyone. I feel so guilty about my behaviour and I want to apologise to you firstly, and to the others when I see them. Please do not make this hard for me."

Trixie, looking crestfallen, wrapped both her arms round Shelagh's middle. "I'm sorry Shelagh"

"And I'm sorry too, for this outburst and last night's behaviour."

"Not a problem" Trixie said loosening the embrace "I won't tell the Sisters, but be prepared to never live this down!"

Jenny, Chummy and Cynthia had all noticed the commotion and had sidled over to see what was going on. Shelagh apologised over and over again to all of them, and her friend's kind words reassured her. She now felt much less guilty, but knew that Trixie was right and that she would never live this down. But she knew from her friends face's that there was still a question on their minds. It was Cynthia who asked first.

"Is everything alright between you and Dr. Tur…I mean Patrick? You were very emotional last night, and I don't think it was just the gin talking."

Shelagh knew she had to be honest. "Patrick and I were very much hoping to be parents. I thought I had conceived as I had not had a cycle for three months, but the test was negative. I then had an operation at Harley Street." She ignored Trixie's "ooohs." "The operation revealed that I had scar tissue in my pelvic cavity, which means my chances of conceiving are very small."

She looked at the horrified looks on her friends faces. None of them knew what to say. She continued "Ever since this diagnosis, things have been, well, different and difficult between us. It's been hard to be a couple. Though, when I woke this morning, and yes Trixie" noticing her smirk "It was this morning, my cycle seems to have started again, so although it is unlikely, there is still a slight glimmer of hope. We are just going to wait and see."

The next thing she knew, she was being enveloped by her four friends, the warmth of their embraces filling her with strength.

"We'll be thinking of you always, we all love you Shelagh and want you to be happy" Jenny said.

"More than anything old soldier" Chummy piped in.

"Thank you" Shelagh said, overcome by the warmth of her friends.

"But" Trixie said "What we all really want to know is…" Shelagh drew a sharp breath, wondering what on earth Trixie was implying.

"What did Patrick say about last night?" the four girls chorused.

Shelagh laughed and looked round to make sure that neither Patrick nor the nuns were in earshot. "Well, he thought it was amusing, but was very glad I had a good time. And he's a wonderful man, and I love him very much."

"We know" Cynthia said, stroking Shelagh's arm.

"Right we must start clinic" Shelagh said "Before…"

"Come on you young girls, stop chit-chatting" Sister Evangelina's voice reverberated around the hall "The mothers and babies of Poplar are not going to wait while you gossip."

"No Sister" the five girls chirped, then waited a moment and giggled amongst themselves before returning to their clinic duties.


End file.
